"I see him."
"Come on." Oz's hand found his; he and Eli dragging Logan behind them off the dance floor, towards the edge of the club.
"Where are we going?" Logan asked, confused.
"Anywhere else," Eli murmured, before suddenly Oz stopped short.
"Oswald," a low voice sneered.
"Brett," Oz gritted out, his tone instantly bringing Logan's hackles up
He stepped close to Oz's shoulder, experience recognizing the signs of a brewing fight long before his brain made anything like a conscious decision.
"Eli," the newcomer greeted, Brett's lip curling as a nasty, mean look slithered into his eyes. "Funny running into you here."
"I could say the same."
"It's like that, huh?" Brett grinned, obviously enjoying himself. His attention flicked over to Logan, abruptly making him all too aware of how he was dressed, where he was, what — "You aren't going to introduce me to your new… friend?"
Logan's blood boiled. He opened his mouth, ready to step in, but a quick nudge from Eli kept him quiet.
"We were just leaving, Brett," Eli drawled, his expression bored. "You want to catch up with Oz, you've got to pick a better place than the club's dancefloor."
Brett's laugh was sharp and cruel.
"Right. He's yours. That makes so much more sense. Well, you and your boy toy go have fun with my leftovers, Eli. Maybe as a third, Oz could make half a decent lay."
"Excuse me?" Logan said, unable to keep silent anymore, his temper snapping. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Brett's eyes glittered, grinning like a wolf discovering a treat. "You should watch your mouth, gym rat. Some of us actually know what to do with our muscles outside the weight room mirror."
"Fuck off, Brett," Oz snarled. "You can't get anyone new to put up with your shit, so you come here looking for a fight. It's pathetic."
Brett's face turned red. "You're the one who's been crawling after my dick since the day we met. If anyone here is pathetic, Oswald — it'syou."
And Logan —
He's really not sure what happened next.
One minute, Brett was shoving Oz, pushing him into Eli's startled catch. Pain bloomed across Logan's knuckles next; his feet braced as his shoulder absorbed the shock, Brett's head rocking back on his neck.
Then it was a flurry of dark and light, snatches of hasty words and pulsing music. Oz and Eli grabbed at Logan, bundling him out of the club and into the cold, metallic air outside.
"Oh my God, let me look at your hand," Eli demanded, tugging at Logan's wrist.
"It's fine," Logan said with the voice of experience, flexing his fingers to prove it. "I get worse injuries in practice."
It felt strange to be out here, letting Eli cluck over him like a mother hen. Everything within him was shouting at Logan to go back in, to find that Brett guy and give him the beating he deserved. To make him apologize to Oz, to Eli, to Logan for ruining their night. Towin.
You go out there and do whatever you have to do, as long as you bring back a win — or I swear I'll make sure none of you ever set foot on my field again.
Logan sighed, hearing his father's voice and… and fighting the instinct down.
"Ride'll be here in five minutes," Oz said, his face awash with the light of his phone as he looked up at them. "C'mon."
Logan snatched his fist out of Eli's hands, glancing only briefly at his reddened knuckles before following Oz around the corner into a nearby alley.
"Holy fuck, Logan!" Oz's eyes were wide and wild, turning on Logan as soon as they were out of sight of the club. "I didn't bring you out tonight just so you could end up slapped with an assault charge for punching my ex!"
